A Thing to be Achieved
by Peetabreadgirl
Summary: After losing everything, Peeta Mellark goes in search of a new destiny, one that could cost him even more than what he's already lost. A Hunger Games/Water for Elephants crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**Many thanks to my beta and friend, Burkygirl, for taking a look at this for me! This crossover is based on the storyline from** **Water for Elephants** **, the movie version, not the book. I started this in 2015 for an Everlark movie challenge I participated in. If you haven't seen the movie, it's a love story with plenty of drama, based around a traveling circus in the early 1900's. I hope you like it!**

" _Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved."_

― William Jennings Bryan

* * *

I stare through a blurry pool of tears that have yet to release in a torrent on my cheeks at the picture of my love. My Katniss. Beautiful, and perfect, and gone. The amazingly attentive mother of my children. My children, who forget to visit me in the home they unknowingly imprisoned me in, forcing me to live out the rest of my days alone and on medication that makes me forget. I sometimes relish the absent-mindedness. Until memories of the past return, bringing with them a longing for the fulfilled life I once had, and the reality of the fractured life I lead now.

"Would you mind telling me about that day?" The voice of the young man in front of me, Finnick he said his name was, breaks my reverie, and I'm glad for it. He seems genuinely interested in talking to me. Not like the nurses in the home or the other residents who stare blankly down the halls and out their windows, yearning for a past they cannot retrieve.

I haven't spoken to anyone about what happened in 1931. It was the greatest of all circus disasters. Katniss and I kept it just between us, not wanting our children's lives tainted with the stories of deception, infidelity and murder that involved us. When she went, peacefully in her sleep, I was left to bear the anguish of separation from my one true love, along with the weight of our secret for the rest of my days. It's been so heavy on me this last year without her, so I say yes, wanting someone else to know the truth, what I made of my destiny, before my time in this life is over.

* * *

"Mr. Mellark?" I'm surprised to hear my name called in the middle of my assessment. Panem University is an Ivy League school, and I knew they wouldn't be interrupting my final exam unless it were absolutely necessary. My pulse quickened and my stomach lurched with anticipation of some kind of dreadful news. Did my Dutch background and my immigrant parents' ancestry somehow disqualify me for a degree in Veterinary Science? In my wildest dreams I couldn't have imagined what he had to tell me.

I stepped into the tiny office with the Dean of the prestigious school. His face was somber, and the words he uttered, filled with remorse, bitterly slammed a door to my future and, although I couldn't have known it then, set me on a course I could never regret.

I'm requested to attend the hospital's morgue to identify the dead body's of my parents and my two brothers, killed that afternoon in a car accident. The room reeked of antiseptic, a smell I will forever associate with the agony of loss, and the white linens that covered the four bodies were pulled away to reveal the only people I had ever called family. My parents moved to America alone, chasing freedom they never knew and could only dream about. I never knew my grandparents. Nor my aunts, uncles, cousins, or anyone I would have been able to turn to during a tragedy.

I hoped the fat droplets of tears snaking angry trails down my face was answer enough for the authorities because I could not speak. Completely silenced by shock, I ran out of the building, emptying the contents of my stomach onto the sidewalk. My father, my brothers, my mother, all dead.

The death of my mother was what most upset me, even though it shouldn't have. My father and brothers were all proud of me, all loved me. But Mother, I was a disappointment in her eyes. I constantly tried to please her, doing anything I could to gain her approval.

I rose early every morning to help around the house before school. I did loads of dishes and laundry, cleaned toilets and made beds. I studied every night to become valedictorian of my class and be the first of our family to make it into college. And not just any college. Ivy League college. I was one hour away from her acceptance. And she died before I could ever know what it was like to have a mother's love.

Anger quickly replaced sorrow at those thoughts, and I pulled at my hair, finally moving only because a nurse leaving work coaxed me inside, and gave me water to drink and cleaned my dirty face before sending me home in a cab.

* * *

The death of my family was not the end of the coarse and jagged road life chose for me. My father, I was surprised to learn, good man that he was, was not the best business man. I was under the impression that the Mellark bakery was in the black, and that my father owned our home. That was not the case. A week after their deaths, I sat across from Alma Coin, the haze of denial still not completely lifted. The banker was a heartless woman, possibly made that way by the economic depression of that era. In those times, it was all about surviving.

Though I can't completely blame her actions, her bedside manner was deplorable. She told me my father was a terrible business man. Her words struck fear and indignation in my heart. Fear that what had been left to me would not be mine, and indignation at her judgement. She didn't know him. All she knew was what was on paper. My father helped people. Maybe he did accept chickens and unusable goods from time to time as payment for famous Mellark breads and sweets, but he wasn't a bad man.

"I know my father owned our house outright," I said adamantly to her accusations.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mellark, but you're wrong." She flipped through a stack of papers, eyeing the information with a stoic expression. "It's all here, dated four years ago."

Her lips were still moving, but my realization was blocked with the comprehension of her cold-toned words. Four years ago? I started college then. It dawned on me that my father must have mortgaged the house to pay for my schooling. Fate had taken my loved ones, but the bank was taking everything else.

* * *

It took two weeks for the papers to be filed and the vultures to sell off everything my parents had worked so hard for. I kept a few items to remember them by. My father's leather satchel, which held the few clothes I owned, those passed down to me by my eldest brother, Brandon. Ryan's favorite dirty magazines that he hid under his mattress, believing no one knew about them, were there along with my mother's wedding ring. It had been my paternal grandmother's and was a family heirloom. Though, now, I had no prospects of giving it to anyone.

Glimmer Rogers had been the one I planned to give it to. But the depression I found myself in wreaked havoc in my life and I never went back to take the test, which meant I had no career, and her father would have never blessed our union. It was probably for the best. I had been blinded by her beauty. Flowing, blonde hair, eyes the color of a clear, morning sky, and lips that tasted like strawberries and felt like satin. I went to her after learning of all my misfortunes, and she, the girl who had told me countless times she loved me, responded by telling me she couldn't be with me anymore. I only _thought_ I had lost everything up until that point.

I found myself wandering, hungry and exhausted physically and emotionally. I absently followed train tracks out of town, searching for work in the direction of the Capitol. I would have taken work anywhere, though, so long as it was far from the life that was ripped away from me.

I had just bedded down for the night in a grove of trees, when the thundering of a locomotive engine caught my attention. I watched it, judging its speed. The old me would have thought it ludicrous to jump onto it. The new Peeta figured it would at least get me somewhere faster than the lazy, sulking strides I was taking so far.

I saw an opening and took my chance as the sixth train car approached me, the loss of so much leaving nothing to hold me back, no fear of death. My belly scraped the uneven wooden boards of the train car's floor and a smile, the first one since the day I lost my family, spread across my lips.

I was suddenly yanked from the car's opening, flailing wildly about in the dark, trying to see my attackers. A strong brute held my arms behind me as another man, dirty and reeking of illegal liquor, shoved a lantern into my face.

"We don't take stowaways, son," he said gruffly. I stared at him, unable to form a response as a small crowd of men gathered around him, all eyes boring into me.

"We ain't got enough food to feed anybody else," he cut through my silence.

"I don't need food. Just need a ride, that's all," I said calmly when I noticed one of the men held a large, curved knife.

"Well, Snow don't give free rides to nobody. And if you know what's best for you, you'll turn around and jump out that door right now, and never look back." I heard the warning in his words, but in spite of what I'd just been through, I didn't really care.

"Throw him off!" one of the men shouted, the rest roaring their approval of the idea.

"He's a bum!" came another shout. The man holding the lantern looked me up and down, taking in my disheveled but fashionable appearance, encouraging the larger man still clamping my arms behind my back to let me go.

"He's not a bum. No bum dresses like that." The man drew closer to me, the stench of moonshine growing harsher with each step.

"What's your name, son?"

"Peeta. Peeta Mellark," I managed with a weak voice, tagging a respectful "Sir" in the following silence.

"I'm Haymitch," he introduced himself, the glower giving way to concern. "What are you looking for, kid?" The question was straightforward.

"Work," I answered truthfully.

"You can sleep there tonight," he pointed to a bare spot at the side of the car. "I'll see if I can get you something in the morning. Until then, keep to yourself if you know what's best for you."

* * *

Morning came early, and I twisted my body several times in search of relief from the tightness in my back, having slept on the hard, uneven wood all night. It wasn't an ideal scenario, but there seemed to be something freeing, dangerous even, about riding the rails with a group of ruffians.

Before I had left the car I could hear the orders of men, the chatter of ladies and the clamoring of animals. What town could sound so lively? Eager to see where we were, I stepped into the morning sunshine. The meadow outside the train car's door was filled with every animal you could imagine. Lions, tigers, horses, giraffes, bears, exotic species from worlds away. Looking back to the train, my suspicion was confirmed when I read the script on the side of the car - "Cirque du Snow", it said in scrolling, yellow letters on a faded, red background. Another smile, the second since my tragic loss, crept over my tired features despite my sorrows. I had just come face to face with every child's dream.

* * *

"Son, is there any kind of life that you have to go back to?" Haymitch asked me as we stood in front of the frosted glass door of Snow's personal car. "Because if there is, you should forget all of this and go back to it right now." I shook my head. I had nothing and no one. Anything I could do to earn a bit of money and make myself useful might help me move on, feel worth something.

With a defeated sigh he nodded and rapped on the door with his dirty, scarred knuckles. "Now, when Thresh comes to the door, you're on your own. He'll take you to Snow. Whatever you do, don't talk too much about yourself," he explained. "And don't ramble on about stuff, trying to make yourself look smart. Just make your request as politely as you can, you hear me? Snow don't like show-offs and men who think highly of themselves." My head bobbed in understanding, but I wondered nervously just how intimidating the circus owner must be.

A bulky, towering, dark-skinned man escorted me into a lavishly decorated train car, the carpet so luxurious and thick that my normally heavy tread didn't make a sound. Haymitch had given me a small bowl of grits for breakfast, but the buffet spread across the side of the car, overcrowded with delicacies we hadn't even been able to make at my family's bakery, caused my stomach to growl intensely enough for all to hear.

"Who are you and what do you want?" A smooth voice ordered from the table. Not one of the five well-dressed men sitting down to a game of poker turned to look at me, so I wasn't sure which one had spoken.

"Work, sir. I need a job," I said, trying to sound confident but needy.

"What is your name?" A silver haired man turned to face me. His even voice matched the one I heard moments ago. His eyes were dark and beady and his tone belied a thinly veiled, sinister nature. A shiver darted up my spine, as if anxious to get out the man's presence.

"Peeta Mellark, Sir."

"Mr. Mellark. Do you think I don't know the goings-on of my own train?"

"Sir?" I asked, unsure of what he meant.

"You have slept and eaten aboard my city on wheels, yet you haven't worked or paid for any of it. I don't hire thieves, Mr. Mellark. Toss him to the lions, I don't have time for uneducated rabble-rousers," he ordered, turning back to his game. Large, calloused hands seized me and began dragging me backwards.

"I have a degree in veterinary sciences!" I shouted back, more angered more by the flippant comment that I was uneducated than the threat on my life. Snow turned to eye me suspiciously, sizing me up with his disapproving gaze.

"Do you now?" he asked. I shook free of the dark man, feeling the interest in Snow's question.

"Where from?"

"Panem University," I said, holding his penetrating gaze with my own. If I showed weakness now, he would never respect me.

"A trained veterinarian from Panem. I think we can find a place for you." Hope soared inside of me, and I fought to keep the glee from overcoming my features.

"With the animals?" I asked, hesitant but too curious to keep quiet about the nature of the job I wanted.

"Oh, I think we can find you a place with the animals." The smile that played on this lips was anything but sincere.

* * *

My back ached and I could feel the skin of my hands blistering beneath the splintered handle of the shovel I wielded. Turned out large animal feces was heavy. Snow set me to cleaning out the lion cages, and after that I was tasked to the giraffe's quarters. Working with animals was all I ever wanted to do. My mother never allowed me to have a dog, even though it was the only thing I had ever asked her for, and the reason I wanted to become a vet. I decided to stop asking the year she backhanded me with a wooden spatula, hot with the morning's bacon grease. It left an angry, swollen mark across my cheek. My pleading was too much and had become irritating to her, she'd said after her ire had faded and she felt sorry enough to speak to me again. She handled it the only way she handled anything - with rage.

I had felt that same fury inside me a few times, but I never allowed it close enough to the surface to act on it. I never wanted to become what my mother was. I never wanted to strike something innocent. I denied the urges to lose my temper and instead stuffed them deep down inside, and tried to cover the rage with the calm and patience my father always exhibited.

After finally completing the task of mucking the large animal stalls and stepping out into the fresh air, I looked across the short field into an open tent. There were four horses, all bright white like fresh, powdered snow gleaming in the noon sunshine. They were lined up in a perfect row. Each bowed to their instructor, a young, petite woman dressed in riding breeches and boots, with a sleeveless top tied at her navel. Her arms were strong but slender and they moved with grace, commanding her audience.

I drew closer to the opened flap of the tent, intrigued by the commanding presence of this tiny girl. Four large beasts seemed to hang on her every movement. She was gentle and kind with them, and I could tell right away that she loved them.

"Buttercup, what's wrong? What is it, my love?" She asked one of the horses in a voice that would be reserved for one's child or favorite pet. I looked to where her eyes were trained, the horse on the end. It was slow to stand from its curtsied position and stumbled a few times, favoring its right, front leg. The veterinarian in me strode over to help, but stopped short when the girl's heather-gray eyes pierced mine.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned me curtly. I could hear suspicion in her tone, but the beauty I found in her face rendered me speechless. The oval shape of her eyes, stormy in color but able to fill my soul with sunshine. Her dark hair, shiny and draped down to the middle of her back in a loose plait, wavy wisps escaping around her face and neck. Her lips and cheeks were flushed from the summer heat, bright pink against flawless, olive skin.

Words never evaded me. All my life I was able to charm and talk my way into and through anything I wanted. Well, with the exception of my mother. But this time was different. The heat of the summer was stifling in the tent. Beads of sweat trickled down my back, but I couldn't have cared less in that moment. As I was about to find the courage to speak, a voice behind me caught both of our attentions and our heads snapped to its direction.

"Dearest Katniss, this is our new man. A vet from Panem University, no less," Mr. Snow explained. I was too busy twirling her name around in my mind to hear him take the glory for my sudden appearance.

"I found him myself, and now he's going to save our precious Buttercup." He eyed me with a look that said he expected no less, and I got the feeling that if I couldn't deliver a healthy animal, I may regret my decision to join his little assemblage. "Isn't that right, Mr. Mellark?" The way his eyebrows rose on his forehead, and the way he enunciated my last name told me I had no choice but to agree. I hoped I could help the animal, but I couldn't say for sure until I examined it.

"Do you mind if I take a look?" I asked Katniss, leaving Mr. Snow's question unanswered until I could be honest in my reply, as I had no intentions of lying to this beautiful woman. Katniss nodded her head and stepped back to permit me space next to Buttercup. I allowed the majestic animal to sniff my hand and familiarize himself with my scent. I ran my hand along his smooth mane, patting him twice on the neck, calling him a 'good boy' in my most soothing voice, and then moved down his leg toward the hoof.

Grabbing the lower leg, I gently tugged upwards, letting the horse know to lift its leg so I could inspect the underside of the hoof. Buttercup acquiesced, and I could tell the animal was in a great deal of pain. My heart dropped into my stomach upon seeing the source of the animal's pain - a severe abscess. It must have been progressing for weeks.

"Can you do something?" Katniss' voice interrupted my dire thoughts, her tone much more childlike and imploring than before. I looked into her hopeful eyes, dreading the only thing I could say.

"I'm sorry," I said with reluctance.

"What do you mean? You can't fix it?" Katniss' words were biting and her face instantly took on a distrustful scowl. "Some ivy league vet you are. Come on, Buttercup," she beckoned the horse and exited the tent, the white steed following her like the most loyal of dogs.

I watched her go with a heavy heart, wanting to heal the animal but knowing there was nothing I could do. Maybe I could comfort her in some way. I would if I knew how. Mr. Snow, who I'd all but forgotten about, cleared his throat, gaining my attention.

"Mr. Mellark, are you telling me there is nothing you can do to fix the star horse to my star act?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, but the abscess is too far-"

"I'm beginning to think Panem University isn't quite the prestigious school I first thought it to be." I didn't have to time to be offended with his words, as the ones that followed were far more serious and threatening than the former. "If that horse does not become healthy quickly, Mr. Mellark, I won't sell tickets. Katniss and her horses are my headlining show. Without them there isn't a show. Without a show there is no money and without money, well, I'm sure you can figure it out from there. You will fix that horse or I will evict you from my train in the middle of the night." The calm with which he threatened me made me envision the horrible plight. The train at full speed, and my body would bounce along the jagged rocks until it came to its final resting place - bruised, broken, and bloodied. I was so taken back by his calloused warning that all I could do was nod at his final question, each word enunciated as if it were its own sentence. "Do. You. Understand?"

Mr. Snow exited the tent, leaving his voice and malevolent warning ringing in my ears as if I had been in a bell tower at noon. Haymitch's words from the night before suddenly broke through, louder and clearer, and with much more meaning than I'd originally heard.

" _If you have any kind of life to go back to, kid, you should forget all of this and go there right now."_

* * *

Comments are always appreciated! How about the banner? Gosh, loving-mellark is just fantastic. I have serious heart eyes for her. Pbg


	2. Chapter 2

If you've seen W4E, then you know the horse is hurt beyond repair, and it's death plays a part in the story because they end up needing a new animal and come across an old circus elephant. Jacob (Peeta) basically puts it down because it's in so much pain and there's nothing he can do. I didn't do this on purpose to make people angry, I promise! Thanks to Burkygirl for beta work!

* * *

It had been a few days since I'd seen Katniss. I wanted to help her, but instead I felt like I'd killed Buttercup right in front of her. The way she looked at me, like I was personally responsible for signing the death warrant on her horse, was a constant, nauseating vision in my mind as I cleaned out the large animal stalls that morning.

The heat of the sun was causing the beige work shirt Haymitch leant me to spot with damp, darkened circles under my arms, on my chest, and probably on my back, too. I could feel it sticking to me in places. I laid the shovel against the outside of the tigris's large cage, and walked the twenty yards to the abandoned water barrel that had been set up for the workers.

I spied the water in the barrel momentarily. The small bits of grass and dirt and the murky tinge when I dipped a wooden bowl into it wasn't enough to keep me from gulping it down. I tipped my face, dumping the third bowl of water on my forehead, washing the sting of sweat from my eyes. I was about to go for a fourth when I heard the soft notes of a sweet voice, warm and soothing, like fingers caressing the ache inside me; the ache I felt every day since my family was taken from me.

Following it, I poked my head around the open doorway of what was Buttercup's storage car. I didn't see her at first, her small frame hidden by the massive animal lying on its side. It wasn't dead. I could see his stomach rise and fall with shallow breaths. I could tell he was in pain. Stepping onto the creaky boards caught Katniss' attention, and she peered over at me, eyes rimmed red and swollen underneath, her singing halted.

I stood paralyzed by the vulnerability I saw in her. She looked like a child, fragile and afraid. Not the girl that had stood in front of me, defiantly erect, challenging my knowledge and degree just days ago. I knew then she was different from any girl I had ever met. She was strong, independent, beautiful. I wanted so badly to comfort her. But given that we were very new acquaintances, and I was sure she despised me as much as Snow did, I turned to leave her be.

"I knew." My body became rigid at her weary voice, my hand on the edge of the splintered, wooden framing of the car. "I knew it couldn't be fixed. I tried to help him, but I didn't know how." My gut wrenched when I heard her words break at the end, a certain indication of fresh tears. I turned back toward her, wincing when I pull my hand away, my newly blistered skin taking a piece of the framing with it. I ignored the sharp sting and walked to her, crouching down next to Buttercup and running my good hand along the smooth hairs of his back. His ears fluttered and flopped, sensing me, but he did not move otherwise.

"I'm sorry," I said to her, catching her gaze. The red around the rim intensified the gray of her eyes. A beautiful thunderstorm of fear and pain hooked me, tugged at my heart.

"Help him," she pleaded. I sat back in defeat.

"Katniss, I can't. There's nothing I can do," I said, my words a bitter whisper from my mouth. I would have given anything to help her.

"Actually," I paused, a bold thought forming in my head, "there is one thing I can do." She seemed to follow my indication, alarm crossing her exquisite features.

"But you'll have to be willing to defy Snow," said Katniss, shocking me. No way was I expecting that, and I was surprised she didn't spit in my face. I thought she and Snow were of one mind, and I was certain his mind wasn't on killing the horse. The man was revolting. The ever present, sinister look in his eyes, the smell of something floral mixed with iron, the calculating edge in his voice. I was beginning to understand Haymitch's warning.

"How can he run a circus and not care about the welfare of these animals?" I asked out loud, more to myself, but Katniss answered.

"Snow only cares about Snow," said Katniss bitterly. "But you should know that if you do this, he will punish you." I thought back to the threat he made the other night, the one about throwing my body off the train and onto jagged rocks. It wasn't something one easily forgot. Could I do this for Buttercup? For Katniss?

"It's the only way, Peeta. I would do it, but-"

"No!" Katniss' eyes widened from my sudden outburst. I didn't mean to be forceful, but the thought of Katniss possibly being punished by Snow terrified me. A shiver ran through me as I briefly wondered what torture he would inflict upon her, deciding that I would do anything to keep that from happening. "I'll be right back."

I returned a few moments later, carrying a small pistol I had stolen from Haymitch's sleeping quarters. I happened upon it the night before, the recognizable butt of it protruding slightly from his thin mattress, after helping him to bed because he was too drunk to make it himself by lights out. I was warned never to be outside of the sleeping quarters after curfew, and it scared me for Haymitch. He and I had formed a bond of sorts since I'd been there. I knew he was looking out for me and I wanted to return the favor.

"Are you sure about this?" Katniss was on her feet next to Buttercup, the concern in her question very evident.

"It needs to be done, Katniss. And I'm not letting you do it." Fire flashed through her silver eyes, like lightning through a dense cloud. I was learning that Katniss wasn't the kind of person you told what she could and could not do. "I don't want to see Snow hurt you," I added, and her features softened slightly. I must have said the right thing, but as quick as it came it was gone again, washed over like the ocean receding from the beach.

Katniss spoke an anxious warning as her delicate hand came to rest on my forearm. "He'll do worse to you than he would to me." I glanced down at my arm, then to her face, surprised that her touch was more tender than I would have imagined. Her eyes flickered away from mine, her hand drawn back to her side, and I wondered if she were thinking the same thing about me as I was about her. She doesn't want to see me get hurt, but I think I'd die before I allowed her to experience whatever fate Snow could dream up for her defiance. No. It had to be me.

"You should go," I said as I readied the gun for its purpose.

"No. I want to stay," said Katniss, solemn but firm. "Prim would want me to." I gave her a curious look, but this wasn't the time or place to ask questions about who Prim was or why she would care.

"Are you sure?" Nodding her head slowly, Katniss wound her arms around Buttercup's neck, gently squeezing and then releasing the beautiful horse. She moved down and situated herself at the horse's belly, laying her head down on him and stroking him gently.

"Go ahead. I'm ready." Katniss' voice was raspy, and I could tell she was putting on a brave face. I positioned the short barrel of the pistol behind Buttercup's ear, preparing to unload the chamber. I glanced once more at Katniss, finding in them the determination to do what was best for the animal. In the moment following the fluttered closing of her eyes, I pulled back on the trigger, releasing the bullet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My stomach wasn't completely bottomed out upon entering Mr. Snow's train car, but it wasn't all that settled, either. The only thing holding me together on the outside was the knowledge that I'd saved Katniss from more misery and pain.

Haymitch had come running into the car after the shot rang out like a belated dinner bell across the fields. When he realized we weren't dead, he swore to kill us both.

"Do you know what you've done?" He yelled. "You've signed your death warrant and possibly hers and Prim's." He had pointed to Katniss when he said it, but all I heard was the name Prim again. It still wasn't the right time to ask, but the curiosity of who she was began to take a front seat in my mind.

Haymitch continued to holler at me until his voice sounded like black smoke billowing from a chimney, hoarse and dry. He started to cough and wheeze, so I ran outside to grab him some stale water from the community barrel. He grunted his thanks, if it were thanks at all, glowering at me over the rim of the old tin cup, sloshing some of it onto the floorboards in his haste to bring it to his lips.

White roses were scattered in various sized vases around the room, which was much larger than any of the others I'd seen, and the scent of them mingled unpleasantly with the smell of soured minerals. It was the unique fragrance of Snow. I wondered if anyone else associated the cloying tang with the circus owner.

"Mr. Mellark," Snow said as he appeared from a door at the opposite end of the car. What I could see of the room was small, with a sink and mirror. Snow delicately wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. I noticed a flash of red as he folded it and put it in his pocket, but I had no idea what to make of it except that it was blood. More questions came to mind. It would explain the scent of iron that seemed to follow him like the most loyal of pets, and I wondered how long he'd been that way, and what caused it.

"I'd hoped not to see you under these types of circumstances. Direct defiance carries with it a very steep penalty, and I rather thought I might end up liking you."

"Mr. Snow," I began, trying to at least plead the case that horse was going to die anyway. "May I speak freely?"

"You may say anything you like," he answered, giving me the distinct impression that I couldn't actually say anything I liked.

"I feared for the safety of your performer and your audience." Snow's expression took on a more curious nature, rather than the silent loathing that had been etched across it moments ago.

"How so, Mr. Mellark?"

"Buttercup was in a lot of pain, and animals in distress tend to lash out whoever is closest to them. If Katniss were to have ridden Buttercup at your next show, she could have been badly hurt, or worse." I paused for effect, letting my words sink in. I didn't want a hair plucked from her head, much less the 'worse' I was thinking could have happened.

"And if the audience had seen something terrible happen to your star act, your reputation may have been soiled, and ticket sales would plummet for any shows thereafter." I watched as the curiosity in his dark eyes became something akin to realization, stopping just shy of respect. The look was calculating, sizing me up as a competitor of sorts.

"You make a good point Mr. Mellark. Still, I do not look fondly on my wishes and direct orders being ignored. What does it say to the hundreds of workers I employ? It shows weakness, which breeds contempt for leadership," he said, staring straight into my eyes. Not blinking. Voice calm. "It says anarchy, Mr. Mellark. And I won't forget it."

Snow rose from his chair, striding into a separate room. That was my cue to leave, apparently, so I did the same, exiting from the door I came in.

Before I could close it behind me, rough hands jerked me forward, lifting me easily and slinging me into the railing. My lower back connected with the cold steel, shooting pain up my spine and down my legs. I brought my arms up instantly to cover my face, just before a punch landed on my forearm. I'm grabbed again, this time thrown from the car onto the hard ground, the grass providing no cushion for my fall.

Two men jumped from where I was, one of them landing on top of me, his fists pummeling my ribs viciously. A boot landed on the side of my face, and I cried out as my mouth filled with blood. The smell of Snow came back to me as I tasted the metallic twang on my tongue. He did this. This is his punishment. In front of everyone, so that all would fear.

"Stop!" A voice echoed through my suffering, as yet another kick jerked my head to the side, forcing air from my lungs and spraying blood into the air. Fear gripped me when I realized who the voice belonged to - _Katniss_. I tried to tell her to stay back, but a blow to my stomach silenced my warning.

"Brutus! Gloss! Get away! You've done enough!" I took one more punch to the gut, then heard the smack of skin against skin, and then a shriek that I knew came from Katniss, followed by a thud, and a growl.

"Don't touch me." I heard Katniss say through gritted teeth. Rolling over to get a view of what was happening was agonizing, but I had to see what danger she was in. I was horrified at the sight before me - Katniss on her hands and knees, eyes on fire enough to burn a hole through someone. A cut across her cheek was slowly releasing a trail of red down her lovely face, and Snow's two bullies lurking over her.

Thankfully, Haymitch was running toward the scene. "You don't want to do that!" He tells the two hulking men, placing his body between them and their target, which wasn't me for the time being. "Katniss is the star act. Snow would be enraged at the both of you for messing her up. Look, you've already bloodied up her cheek. He'll have to find a way to hide that before the next show."

Brutus and Gloss exchanged pensive looks, taking an agonizingly long time to decide against any more action.

"Snow sends his regards," Brutus said before the two walked away. My head collapsed on the ground in relief, sharp pain shooting through every part of me as it reconnected with the unforgiving ground.

"Katniss, help me," Haymitch said, rushing to my side. He began to lift me, much to my chagrin, and I yelped as he wound my arm around his shoulders. I was in so much pain from the beating that I couldn't enjoy the fact the my other arm was around Katniss's shoulders, and her arm around my waist, as the two of them walked me to the tiny compartment I called home. It wasn't big enough for three, so Haymitch helped me in, sending Katniss to get water, rags, and alcohol. She was back in what seemed like seconds.

"Stay awake, boy," Haymitch said as he began to check me over, moving my limbs slightly and putting pressure in a few places. I must have dozed off. The pain he was creating was excruciating, and I felt the room closing in on me again, until Haymitch asked Katniss to take over and clean my wounds. That wasn't something I wanted to be out cold for.

Katniss knelt beside my cot, gently wiping blood from my face. I turned my head toward her and focused my attention on her features as she studied my cuts and bruises, her brows constantly drawn together in that scowl she wore so well. After what seemed like forever, which I wasn't complaining about, she moved on to the other parts of my body that had received the beating.

"I'm going to have to cut your shirt off," Katniss said, producing a small knife. I managed to whisper 'alright', and heard the tearing away of the cotton from my body. The cool air caused me to gasp at the same time she did.

"Oh, Peeta," she said quietly, as she surveyed my abdomen, and I knew her words were meant for her ears only. Katniss wasn't good at hiding her emotions.

"That bad, huh?" I asked her. Katniss' eyes flitted to mine and she smiled weakly.

"It's fine. You're fine." I was sure her words were said more out of assurance to herself than to me. Her fingers trailed over my stomach, and I could feel my skin puckering with goosebumps. Even though she wasn't doing anything but assessing my wounds, her touch held more comfort than any mother, nurse or doctor could ever produce.

I wanted to touch her back, so I reached down, pain racing up my arm as my hand encircled her wrist. She froze, eyes fixed on me. I saw a tenderness in her then that endeared me to her forever. I knew in that moment that I had to have her, no matter the cost. I would fight Snow's goons a hundred times over. I would fight Snow himself, and take Katniss away from this life. I would do anything for her.

"Ka-"

"Sshhhh, Peeta. Don't talk," she said softly, and I obeyed, grateful just to watch her. "I need my hand, though."

The light chuckle that escaped me turned into a wincing cough as my ribs protested. Katniss brought her hand to my forehead and brushed away the sweat-dampened hair, soothing me until the fit was over. All the pain in the world was worth her simple touch.

Katniss hesitated after cleaning my upper body, and I could see a question in her eyes.

"I need to check the rest of you," she said timidly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"I don't mind if you see me," I told her. Her fingers hesitatingly made their way to the button on my pants, and I suddenly wished I hadn't said it was okay. The effect she had on me was exciting, although a little embarrassing if she would have uncovered my rapidly hardening arousal. It was too late to change my mind as I could feel her hands tugging down on the pants. I raised my hips as much as I could, grateful that the pain it took to lift them deflated my hardness before she could tell I wanted her.

"There are some bruises, but you don't have any cuts on your legs. Do you feel any pain in them?" Katniss asked.

"No," I said, my voice cracking when her hands dipped into the waistband of my underpants to check my hips. She left me decently covered, though, and the shiver that went up my spine and through my toes was anything but scary.

"Here. Drink some water," she said, repositioning herself near the head of the cot and dunking a clean rag into a small bucket. "Open your mouth." Katniss wrung the rag out, dripping the liquid onto my waiting tongue. I didn't realize how thirsty I was until the water trickled down my dry throat.

"More, please," I said, trying to sit up so I could do more than let it dribble into my mouth. Katniss pushed an arm underneath my back to help me, and between the pain in my body and her proximity, nothing made sense. I could smell her hair, the scent of fresh air and lavender swirling through my nostrils, making me dizzy.

"Ow," I mumbled under my breath.

"Am I hurting you?" Katniss asked me.

"Your arm, on my back. I... hit the railing of the train car." Katniss removed her arm quickly, and the dizziness dissipated. Maybe it wasn't her scent that made me disoriented. Although the way I felt when I was around her was of a similar experience.

"I'm going to roll you over," she said to me, her hand managing to find two of just a few areas on my upper body that weren't sore.

"It's badly bruised," she said, and the light brush of her fingertips over the area caused me to wince and jerk away, which made everything else hurt. I groaned, and Katniss gently rolled me back over, apologizing to me, and even though she didn't say it, I knew it was more about the situation than the jolt of pain I felt.

"Is this okay?" Katniss asked me. I nodded through a grimace as I settled back into the mattress, the pain dulling a little. Her hands folded my torn shirt back over my abdomen, and I felt her weight shift to get off the bed.

"Wait," I said, my hand settling on her forearm before I knew exactly what I wanted from her. I knew I didn't want to be separated, but I also knew I couldn't ask her to stay. Snow would no doubt be looking for her, and it was probably dangerous for her to be seen caring for me.

"Yes?" Katniss asked, and the apprehension I heard in her words made me skeptical. I couldn't tell whether she wanted to leave my quarters, or if she wanted to stay.

"Will you - will you sing to me?" A look of surprise shot across her face, and I thought I may have ruined everything yet again, but before I could think further, Katniss began to hum a soft tune that brought a smile to my face and relaxed me, the physical ache in my body being carried away with the melody.

* * *

" _Peeta," Katniss said to me, her voice sensuous and provoking. I couldn't see her, only hear and feel her presence. The room was without even the tiniest speck of light. "Peeta," she breathed, allowing the 'a' in my name to float through the air around me. Warm lips left gentle kisses beginning at my right temple, making their way down my cheeks, over my chin, finally settling lightly on my own lips. I wanted to respond, to kiss her back, to place my hands on the sides of her face and hold her to me; to part her lips with my tongue and caress her mouth slowly, but my body wouldn't cooperate. She began to tap my shoulder, becoming more insistent, her voice changing from sweet and soulful to harsh and demanding._

"Wake up, boy." I tried to open my eyes, but they were swollen shut from the beating I had taken earlier.

"Katniss?" I said, hoping my ears were being deceptive.

"It's Haymitch," he said gruffly, and I sensed the disappointment acutely. "How you feeling?" His question sounded more like asking how a friend was after a hangover rather than a vicious attempt on his life.

"I've been better," was my response as I tried to decide whether I wanted to keep thinking about the dream I was having before Haymitch so rudely woke me, or to put it out of my head so I could focus on what he was telling me.

"You ready to get to work?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Turning my neck to look at him through the tiny slits in my eyes was painful enough. How was I going to work if I was barely able to move?

"I don't think it's possible today," I said, the movement of my mouth causing the cut across my lip to open up and trickle blood over my jaw. Haymitch threw a dirty cloth at me, and I dabbed at the liquid I could feel cooling on my skin.

"If you can find the strength at all to work, it would be in your best interest. Snow don't like his workers taking freebies." He explained further when I shot him an incredulous glance, my eyes finally pried open enough to see him clearly.

"Everyone works, sick or well, broken or whole. There are always consequences if you don't, or if you can't. It don't matter to him what happened, hell, he was the one that ordered it. He's trying to force you out before he has to kill you." The last words were said in a hushed manner, as if Haymitch was warning me of things to come. A slight shiver wove itself jaggedly through my body, causing fragments of discomfort to trail off in different directions, each one affecting a portion of my bruised limbs.

A knock at the door broke the tension of the moment, and after Haymitch stepped out, Katniss walked through it. As soon as I laid eyes on her I could feel my heart stop beating in my chest. She was a vision, an angel in white, wearing a small, triangle top, beaded with sequins reflecting the light shining through the small entrance. Her flat stomach was exposed, except for sparkling fringe that dangled around her torso, from the end of the fabric underneath her breasts to just above her belly button. I tried not to allow my eyes to drift lower, to the small, white pants that showed more than I wanted anyone else to ever see of her.

"You look stunning," I said, focusing my swollen eyes on hers.

"Wish I could say the same for you," she replied softly, concern in her voice as she knelt beside my cot, the fringe swishing with her movement. Her hands began to roam my various cuts and bruises, and I think I would prefer to be beaten at least weekly to have this attention from her. "We have a show today."

In all the commotion from the day before I had completely forgotten. And of course, Katniss was short one very important horse.

"What are you going to do?" I asked her as she attended the opened cut on the corner of my mouth. Her touch was delicate on my skin, and the sensation made me want to glide my hands over her bare arms and shoulders, but I couldn't. I didn't want to frighten her away.

Our gazes locked, then hers refocused back to her task.

"Snow has me on tightrope today," she answered. I sucked in an anxious breath, forcefully enough for my bruised ribs to ache. "Don't worry. It's how I started out in the show. And there's a net, so it's completely safe."

I relaxed somewhat that Katniss would be safe in the performance. "Help me sit up," I asked her, slowly moving my legs over the side of the cot. I was tired of laying down, and I wanted to be face to face with her.

"Peeta, don't," she cautioned me, rising from her knees to lay her chest on top of mine in an effort to keep me down. Her weight wasn't enough to keep one of my arms from lifting her, but the position of her body on mine held me in place. It was better than my imaginations, and I wanted her to stay there. Always.

Her eyes, nose, lips, were so close to my own. If I hadn't been paying attention I wouldn't have noticed her eyes briefly flicker down to my mouth. But I wasn't sure if she was still assessing my cut, or if she was contemplating the same thing I was; what it would feel like to kiss her.

She straightened up, and my eyes drifted over her splendid face, greedily taking in the perfection of every feature. From the way her brow creased as she doctored me up, to the way the tip of her tongue peeked out from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated.

Unable to stop myself any longer, I reached up to take hold of the long braid that was hanging loosely over her left shoulder. I rolled the soft weave through my fingers, committing the feel of her silky strands to memory, when Katniss cleared her throat, bringing me out of my trance. She rose from beside me.

"Stay here. You need to rest." If it were anyone else I would have argued. I wanted to as it was, to see her act, to watch her perform and be adored by the huge crowd of onlookers. To be mesmerized by her skill. But Katniss had a way with me like no one else had ever had. I would do anything she asked of me.

"I'll bring you something to eat when the show is over. For now, here's this," she said, reaching into the top of her boot to pull out a small slice of bread and two pieces of bacon wrapped in a white cloth. "It's all I could bring. Breakfast was eggs and oatmeal and with this getup I had no place to hide either of those." She grinned sheepishly, but I didn't care if she had brought me nothing at all. Katniss had just admitted to thinking about me, about my well being. And just a few days ago she hated me.

Katniss left the morsels on the side of my cot, quietly pulling the door closed when she left. I drifted back to sleep after eating the bacon and bread, every bite causing the smile on my heart to grow wider and wider.

* * *

As always, reviews are love! Did it hurt when Buttercup died? Remember this is the 30's so, the depression gives way to difficult times, and the circus is failing, the people are poor, and supplies are limited. Peeta did what he thought was best for the animal. Love to hear your thoughts! Pbg


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